The Meaning In Silence (10 Year Rewrite)
by wild-sunshine
Summary: Bumblebee's suddenly going after Mikaela with a vengence, and Sam can't figure out why. Turns out, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. (The 10-year anniversary re-write of The Meaning In Silence)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! Back in 2009, I wrote The Meaning in Silence, and now that it's coming up on its 10-year anniversary, I wanted to re-write it, to thank all the people who read it the first time and were so encouraging that I went on to keep writing for another ten years, even though the first fic had its flaws.  
(Reading the original is not necessary, just re-writing it so it's better and a remix!)**

 **xxxxxxx**

The hospital loomed behind Sam, somehow no further away every time he looked over his shoulder. It took an entire two city blocks before Sam felt the lights recede from his back, before the darkness surrounding him felt complete, and like no one in the hospital could see him anymore.

He wasn't entirely alone, at least not continuously; every now and then, headlights washed over the sidewalk, flashing out of the darkness before delving back into it. Already, one of his friends had driven by and spotted him, stopping to ask if Sam wanted a ride someplace, but Sam had declined. No, he had a ride coming along soon. He didn't mention that he was planning to either lecture it to death or ignore it completely.

Sam's leaden guilt kept him company, in the meantime; as angry as he was, as much blame as there was to put on shoulders that weren't his, still – still, it came back to him. Sam was the origin, the keystone that brought together things that never would have intersected on their own. He was the one who brought Mikaela into his life, and he didn't keep her safe from it.

It was minor, this time. This time that might have been the beginning, or maybe just the most recent escalation, maybe it wasn't the beginning he wanted it to be. Maybe he'd had his eyes closed to it this year, not wanting to see the violent clash of different sections of his life. This year had been rife with near misses and close calls, of almost-explained-away and could-have-been-accidental. This time wasn't a nearly, wasn't an almost; this time, Mikaela had spent her evening in the hospital, face wan under the lights, telling Sam she was sure it was an accident, not to worry, and her eyes had asked him not why he wasn't protecting her, because she thought he was, because she thought this was the best he could do when really he should have been doing so much more, but asking him to please just shield her a little more.

The quiet rev on an engine soon invaded the silence, humming along just behind Sam. He could see the wink of yellow out of the corner of his eye; he clenched his jaw and refused to look.

"I do _not_ understand why you have such a problem with her!" Sam snapped, unable to keep hold of his silence any longer. Bumblebee gave a small rev of his engine, still slinking along after Sam. "Don't even give me that 'our last day together' shit, because you're only going for a month, and you've been doing _this_ for a _year!"_

Sam strode along faster, although it was probably pointless to try and lose a car. He had feverishly angry visions of diving into the bushes, tearing through the park, probably just running into Bee parked on the next side street patiently. Sam just kept storming along for another few blocks until he arrived at the foot of his driveway. Bumblebee whined again, engine moaning pitifully. Sam recognized the sound.

"No, Bee, I'm not okay. If you don't cut this shit out, who knows how long she'll stick around?" Bumblebee gave a guttural little sound. "That had _better_ not be what you're trying to do!" Sam spun around, finally facing Bumblebee, wishing he had somewhere specific to glare at. His gaze darted between the headlights and the windshield uselessly. "I don't know what's gotten into you, if you're mad or bored or jealous or what, but God, Bee, she's lucky it's only her ankle that's broken!"

Bumblebee crept forward, nosed Sam with his bumper, extremely gently.

"Maybe we're better off without you, before Mikaela breaks her neck!" Headlights blinked on and off, and Bumblebee receded a few feet, cowed.

The front door of the house opened behind Sam, lights pooling on either side of him. "Son, fighting with your car isn't a normal thing to do," his father called over from the porch. Sam sighed, sent a last withering look at Bumblebee, and stalked across the yard. "Sam-" he heard, and Sam heaved another sigh, sidestepping so his foot landed on the path instead of the grass.

"None of this is normal," Sam grumbled as he walked into the house, barely a foot into the entry before he had to step around boxes. "Isn't it a little early to be packing?"

"There's only a month until you have to leave, Sam, and I want to start repainting." His father, blunt as usual, settled back onto the couch beside Sam's mother. "Why are you back so late?"

"Hospital." Sam heard a loud rev of whiny protest from the driveway, and spun to face the window. "Quit it, Bee!" he yelled at the closed window.

"The hospital?" His mother's hand flew to her throat. "Sam?!"

"It's fine, Mom. It was for Mikaela, and she's fine. She… fell. Broke her ankle. She's totally fine now, she's at home." He turned for the stairs, facing another maze of boxes. "I'm gonna go call her, though."

"Tell her we hope she feels better soon!" his mother called after him, "and I have a great German Chamomile for injury pain, if she wants some-" He heard her getting up, already starting to hunt for an essential oil. No doubt Mikaela would have a package on her doorstep within a day, with a diffuser and more essential oils than she'd know what to do with. His mother wasn't into pyramid schemes so much as she was into stealing their ideas, buying similar products online, and giving them away more than selling them.

Sam continued upstairs, ignoring the flashes of headlights that appeared on the walls like spotlights. He heard Bumblebee spinning his wheels on the driveway outside in frustration. He'd tried that on the grass, once, and Sam's dad had all-but had an aneurysm.

Sam's bedroom was on the far side of the house of the driveway, and the walls remained dark even as the yard outside lit up with headlights. Mikaela picked up his call on the third ring, sounding weary.

"Feeling any better?" Sam asked, sitting on the side of his bed and picking at a loose threat in the bedspread. The guilt he'd been floating in had abruptly become too much for him to keep afloat in, dunking his head under and holding it there like a forceful wave. Sam had done this. Sam had brought her and Bee into his life at the same time and united them there under their desire to be near him, and the consequences were all because of him.

"Yeah, a lot." She was lying, not even to preserve his feelings, just because she was too tired to come up with anything other than the simplest answer. Sam couldn't blame her. "Don't worry about me, Sam."

"I'm sorry. I'm just, I'm really sorry. My car is trying to kill my girlfriend-"

"It could have been an accident, Sam." Her placating tone was strained taut. "I mean, maybe the door locks are broken, the seat anchors loose-"

"And you just happened to get thrown out? Kaela, no. He did it on purpose. I'm really, _really_ sorry. I'm not going to let it happen again." He didn't miss the quick flash of yellow outside his window, and groaned. Bumblebee was doing a poor job of eavesdropping, as usual. "He's going out to the Autobot's city tomorrow to help them out for a month, so we'll have some peace." A little harsh, but he couldn't reign it in.

"He'll probably miss you," Mikaela said, vaguely curious. Sam scowled, in no mood to find the feelings of an alien car robot amusing.

"Assuming I'll let him anywhere around us afterwards," he huffed. The silence was abruptly apparent; Sam realized he was more accustomed to hearing the soft whir of mechanics than the absence of it. He only noticed it when it left him, this time because Bumblebee had presumably just taken off to sulk in the garage.

"It's weird, he's usually so sweet." To Sam alone, Mikaela didn't add. Bumblebee was so strongly devoted to Sam, it was nothing short of infuriatingly baffling to see him go after Sam's girlfriend like this. If he really cared about Sam, how could he?

"I'll sort it out, I promise."

"Are you going to tell the others? I mean, it could be a like…" she fumbled for a word, probably waffling between the vocabulary for humans and machines.

"Wiring thing? No, it's all Bee. The only one I need to talk to is him." Sam looked out the dark window. He couldn't see the garage from here.

After he'd said goodnight to Mikaela, Sam lay on his bed, staring out the window without a view of the garage. While driving down the road that wound along the lake, Bumblebee had abruptly jerked, jolting Mikaela all the way out of the car. It had sent Sam scrambling, panicked, for a moment blaming himself and then suddenly being afraid of _Bee –_ for a moment, everything about him that was _Bee_ had fled Sam's mind, and he was just – just scared.

When the soft hum of mechanics returned, Sam was tempted to close his eyes, feign sleep.

"You didn't just scare her, you know," he said aloud, knew Bee could hear him. "You made me scared of you."

Was he still? He turned his back on Bee's whirring mechanics outside the window, closed his eyes. He wasn't afraid of Bee; he was angry, betrayed, wasn't understanding _something,_ but that was it, wasn't it: he knew there was something there to understand.

xxxxxx

Even the hospital had more lenient visiting hours than Mikaela's stepmom allowed, Sam thought grudgingly after he hung up the phone. Sure, it made sense that Amy wanted Mikaela to rest, but really, a _time slot?_ He was going to have to book it to get over there, too, because she lived four blocks away, and he was giving his car the silent treatment.

Not that it was doing much good. When Sam looked out the kitchen window, Bumblebee was waiting for him in the driveway, revving his engine impatiently. A glance at the oven clock told Sam that Bee should have left forty minutes ago, but had spent that time lingering in the driveway instead, trying to call Sam's attention to himself. Sam hadn't planned on saying goodbye.

"Fine," he yelled at the window over the sink. It was closed; Bee could probably hear him though, and anyways, Sam lately had an impulse to shout at walls just out of frustration. "Just stop before you wake up my mom!"

Nearly twenty and still living at home wasn't something Sam loved, exactly, but in a month he'd in the Autobot Watch Lockdown Program – Ratchet called it Autobot Protection, or for short, "Having good sense, Sam," but Sam wasn't buying that, not for a minute – and until then, he just had to contend with the fact that his mom was cranky if she woke up before nine on a Sunday. She had a schedule to keep, she would come downstairs complaining, conveniently not mentioning that the schedule was to stay up late on Saturdays watching movies and drinking margaritas in whatever flavors she could convince his dad to try, and sleeping in on Sundays until it was time for her yoga-brunch-gossip trifecta morning to begin.

Sam grabbed his phone and ignored his car keys, headed outside. He paused when his phone rang, bringing it to his ear.

"Hi, Mrs. Banes," he said, listened for a moment, "yes, I'll be on time for the eight-forty-five. Of course." He reserved his sigh until after he'd hung up. Maybe he was already on some sort of lockdown, and just didn't' know it.

Bumblebee revved again to regain Sam's attention. "Okay, what. What is it?" The door swung open, stopping just short of hitting him. "No, I don't want a ride. I'm going to visit Mikaela, and I don't wanting you committing homicide because you just can't help yourself." Another rev, softer this time. He'd never known how many different sounds a car engine could make, how nuanced it could be. "You're already like, an hour late, anyways."

There was a static sound. "Miss you," Bee said. The low, broken-up voice came from somewhere in the hood, the sound like he was ripping apart cables to force the words out. Sam swung the door shut forcefully.

"You're not supposed to talk! Do you want Ratchet to rip out all the cables you have left in there?" Sam heaved a sign, gaze heavenward. The hard part was that it had still felt like Bumblebee, after the fact. Bumblebee could lose his temper in childish ways, cowed by the consequences he himself had brought about; this was still his Bee, acting in a way that, while more extreme than anything he'd done before, could be easily extrapolated from previous behavior. It was still Bee, though, and he was sorry.

"I'll miss you, Bee. You know I will."

Maybe Bee hadn't, though. Sam looked at him for a long moment, a jumbled mess of emotions roiling inside him; Sam felt a whole host of intense things, when Bee was around, feelings that lashed around like they were looking for an escape, and maybe it was just anger, but Sam didn't want to admit to harboring rage towards his best friend. He didn't know what it was, but it was born of confusion, of not knowing, and Sam had no words to express it.

The yellow Camaro sped out of sight over the hill, and Sam felt the rush of intensity fade away.

xxxxxxx

Half the reason the repairs to Bumblebee's voice mod were taking so long was because they'd lost their sense of dire necessity. Ratchet didn't seem to be in any big hurry, putting out bigger wildfires first and working his way back around to Bumblebee's quiet, contained burning. Wifi let Bumblebee speak directly to his companions, hardly felt the absence of an audible voice around them. It was Sam, who Bee desperately wanted to speak to. He spent more time with Sam than anyone else, and as Bee had once put it, as fun as charades was, there was a reason language had been created. The fact that many of the things he wanted to say to Sam, he didn't have words for, was irrelevant.

"I'll be able to do it later, once I'm all set up," Ratchet assured, after instructing Bee to sit and not move so the cables could be checked. The warehouse they were currently using as a makeshift home base wasn't equipped to be a medical center, as Ratchet often complained, and his complaints were justified. There was nowhere to keep all his tools except on the floor – he'd briefly tried shelves, but their small size made them more of a hindrance than anything else, and Ikea probably wondered why so many returned shelving units had been oddly bent, like a massive hand had tried to grab something and just bent everything around it instead – the ceiling was too low for anyone's comfort, and the furnishings were Spartan at best, with a cement block for an examination table and little else.

"The setup I'll have in the city will be much better," Ratchet was continuing. "The size, for starters-" Bee fidgeted, mentally rehearsing his question again. He was an open book, though, and Ratchet gave him a questioning look. "Oh, what is it?" he sighed.

[Do you really need me here a lot this month?] he finally projected up at Ratchet. Ratchet frowned.

"Where else are you planning on being?"

[Thought I'd go back and visit Sam, maybe.] Bee tried to shrug it off, but Ratchet was frowning at him more deeply.

"Is that such a good idea? Last I heard you were being – what was it? Oh, a dangerous nuisance." At the wince this elicited from Bee, Ratchet rolled his eyes, a human trait he'd apparently added to his inventory liberally. "So it is true. I thought she was exaggerating."

[Mikaela told you.] It wasn't a question. Bumblebee had known she would. The moment he'd done it – so stupid, it had been so _stupid_ – he'd immediately felt the weight of everything that was about to come next, wanted to snatch the action back, snatch Mikaela back into the car and un-lose his patience.

"She was worried there was something wrong, but I assured her that no, nothing was physically wrong." Ratchet's implication was strong, and he stood still so he could stare Bumblebee down, unwavering.

[Nothing is _wrong,_ not emotionally or otherwise.] Speaking in silence had a way of robbing Bumblebee of expression. He wanted to be growling, and all he had was hard silence.

Ratchet didn't dignify this with a response, turning to select a small laser he used for his diagnostic work from the row along the wall. Stored on the floor though they were, he was still impeccably organized. "Shall I warn Sam that the main danger to his girlfriend's life is returning to him?"

[Actually…] Bumblebee looked up to expose his throat in response to Ratchet's gesturing. [Don't. Tell him, I mean. Please.] This earned him a questioning look. Bumblebee gave an inward sigh, and reluctantly explained what he wanted to do.

When he'd finished, Ratchet was silent for a few moments. "Not a good idea," Ratchet shook his head. Bumblebee could only hope the disdain wouldn't cause a laser to slip and slice off anything important. "And when he finds out?"

"He won't!" Bumblebee managed to choke out, a struggle between the lasers Ratchet was using to repair the minute cables and the whine of metal grinding from his voice mod.

"I swear, Bumblebee, talk any more and I'll _confiscate_ the remaining cables, understand?" Bee could only nod meekly. "Well, I'm not sure what you hope to gain from this."

[I just feel like – maybe if we could start over.]

"There is no such thing as a completely new start," Ratchet said, but his voice was far away, "wherever you go, Bee, there you are. You are the only thing you can never leave behind."

Couldn't he, though, Bee wondered, because sometimes he felt so unable to be himself that it was like he'd forgotten how.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was almost wishing for Bee's company, as he dragged himself along after Mikaela at the car show. He could have contacted Bee, knew it couldn't have been all that difficult, but there was still something holding him back. He'd been scared of Bee; for a split second, he hadn't known who Bee was, and there was something in that still churning beneath still waters, the not knowing, the something that he suddenly didn't understand about Bumblebee. _There are things you don't know about Bee,_ the incident had seemed to say, _they're important and you aren't seeing them._

He liked having Bee on these kinds of dates, though, had grown used to it. Mikaela loved car shows whole-heartedly, and Sam wanted to like the things she did, really. And she was so good about it, too; she was always beckoning him over, explaining to him what was unique about a particular car, pausing conversations to give him necessary definitions. She tried so hard to include him, to share with him, and Sam felt like he was falling short when he just couldn't understand or, to be reluctantly honest, _care_ about car things. He liked the way her blue eyes lit up, absolutely, but he just didn't see why painting an engine added to the aesthetic of the vintage MG, or whatever. Mostly, he didn't like the way this made him feel the gap between them, because Sam wasn't stupid; he knew they weren't completely compatible. He just didn't like facing that fact so head-on.

Maybe he shouldn't want Bee there, though; Bee's behavior had been escalading steadily, from occasional, maybe-playful bumps with a door to full on shutting it in front of her, from tricks with locks and seatbelts to brakes, from keeping the doors firmly closed to moving just before she could climb in. He didn't want Bee here in their current state, but – before things had gotten bad, or maybe just before Sam had noticed – he was Sam's ally, was all. They'd bring Bee as their car show entry and some of the time, Sam would hang back with him while Mikaela wandered around. When Bee explained car things, Sam always understood more clearly, and somehow – he cared more. Maybe Bee was just a more engaging storyteller, with analogies that made Sam laugh and oddly not-at-all-objective descriptions of car parts. It was easier, and why wouldn't it be, Sam told himself. Bee was his best friend. Girlfriends weren't best friends, they were – companions? Sam didn't know, he'd never had one before. He wished things with Mikaela were as easy as they were with Bee, sometimes.

"Thank you for coming with me," Mikaela said, when Sam dropped her off at home, opening the door of her beat-up pickup truck for her and helping her down. She touched his cheek, smiled at him in that softly affectionate way she had. Lately, it had started seeming a little sad. Maybe she could see the chasm between them, too. "I know car shows aren't your thing and you just take me because you know I love it. It's very sweet of you."

Sometimes, lately, it felt like the sweet things she said to him could have been followed by a fond, wistful _I'll always remember how you did that for me._ Sometimes, Sam wanted to pull her to him, all the way across the chasm, but it was just too far to reach.

Sam kissed her goodbye and walked home, and just when he was reaching the point of starting to stew over things too much, he was home and his mother was meeting him at the door before he'd even had a chance to open it.

"Have I got the greatest surprise for you!" She crowed. Sam tried to appear excited, he really did; his attempt probably wasn't convincing, because she swatted at his shoulder. "Oh, come on! This is a _good_ surprise!" She'd said the same about the new lighting fixtures in the bathroom. And the new socks she'd gotten him. And her new bottle of window cleaner, essential-oil based. "Come on, come on." She nearly dragged him into the living room, where his dad was talking to two people Sam had never seen before.

A middle-aged man was seated on the couch, and beside him, a guy who was Sam's age. Sam glanced him over quickly, trying not to appear too obvious. Brown hair that was maybe brown but maybe blond, short on the sides but longer on top so it just flopped over his forehead in a little curl. Dark amber eyes, high cheekbones, ski-jump nose. Sam had to stop looking before he started staring.

"You must be Sam," the man on the couch said, as Sam was nudged into the room by his mother. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Randall."

"He's a friend of Valerie's husband. You remember, Valerie Winters?" Sam's mother supplied, and Sam just nodded along. His mother had more friends than he did, and it wasn't something he enjoyed considering often. Why was she so popular, anyways? "He was here to ask a favor of you."

"Oh, um, sure." Sam looked between his mother and Randall, trying to keep his gaze off the younger guy who was possibly staring at him. Sam didn't want to look long enough to check.

"It's so nice of you to accept," Randall said, and Sam realized, not exactly unhappily, that his mother must have already signed him up for whatever it was that had to do with this guy with the very long eyelashes and pink lips. Sam _had_ to stop staring. When had he even started again? "My sister in law's son is visiting my wife and I this month." He indicated the guy beside him, and Sam decided that was as good as permission to once-over him again. The second glance took in the surprisingly strong arms, the big hands, the strength in such a slight-seeming frame. "And I was telling the Winters that he wasn't getting much English practice, what with my wife and I at home all day. And they told me about your parents, and how they have a son his age. Maybe you could let him hang out with you, for practicing English?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Totally. That'd be cool." Sam wondered just how much fun there was to be had, when he spending his time packing up boxes to bring into his uncertain future, going on dates that felt sorrowfully numbered, generally being alone for the last month he had at home.

"He's from Venice, and he doesn't speak any English." Sam's heart sank a little, at Randall's words. So much for having someone to talk to, he thought, didn't enjoy how the sharp disappointment highlighted his apparently dire need for that in his life.

"None at all?" Sam asked; the guy took on a sheepish look, looking down.

"He can understand quite well, but has a harder time with putting the words together himself," Randall explained. "His name's Calabrone."

"Cal." The voice was low, hoarse. He glanced up shyly, offered a smile. Sam could feel it; even if Cal couldn't say a word back, talking to him could never feel like being alone.

xxx

"Who's this?" Mikaela asked, with an amount of surprise that Sam probably deserved. He hadn't exactly been social this summer; for him to make a new friend, they'd have to have opened a Friends for Hire store at the mall. Especially in the last few weeks, he hadn't been feeling very sociable, so it was probably pretty surprising to see him with a new companion.

Cal was trailing along after Sam into the garage, offered Mikaela a shy smile. Maybe he was intimidated by her; Sam certainly had been, the first time he'd seen her, and every time he looked over, he saw Cal's amber-eyed gaze flickering away.

"This is Cal. His uncle knows my mom's friend, and he's visiting them to practice his English and stuff. He's Italian." Sam glanced over his shoulder, to see Cal poking around in the garage, just looking away from them again. Mikaela leaned away from her crutch to sit back against the hood of the car – old, and baby blue, and that was all Sam could readily identify – and looked over at Cal.

"You talked to Bee at all?" she asked, her eyes kind. Sam didn't want her to have to teach the lesson he knew she inevitably would: that you could love someone without being in love with them, that it was sad, that it was to know you were missing a piece and just going along hoping it was an edge piece, something unimportant to the whole picture.

"Not really," Sam shrugged a shoulder, as if not speaking to Bee at all could constitute a 'not really,' instead of a flat-out no. Bee hadn't contacted _him_ either, he wanted to point out petulantly, but it was an unfair argument. Bumblebee was keeping quiet because he could see it was what Sam wanted. "You ready to go?" Sam asked instead, looking around for her truck.

"Amy took the truck," Mikaela explained its absence, "she needed to pick up some big plants at the nursery."

"Okay," Sam peered into the window, confirming his suspicion. "Uh, it's a stick shift," he pointed out sheepishly, "you can't drive, with your ankle," he gave a pointless gesture towards her cast.

"Ugh, I can't believe I forgot," Mikaela shook her head at her ankle, sighed. Impulsively, Sam looked over at Cal.

"Can you drive stick?" he asked. It was a dumb question. Cal was from a city without cars, for God's sake, but before Sam could correct himself, Cal nodded eagerly. His smile was brilliant as he darted forward to take the keys from Mikaela and open the backseat door for her. It was a chivalrous gesture and all, Sam noted bemusedly, but shot Cal in the foot a little, if he wanted to flirt with Mikaela; it left the passenger seat open for Sam to sit beside Cal, after all.

xxx

 _There goes one more day,_ Sam thought, as Mikaela waved goodbye before closing the front door of her house. They were nearing the day he would leave, moving to the Autobot's new city for his own protection, the start of some vague new chapter in his life. He and Mikaela had never discussed it, what would happen between them when that day came, but – but they understood each other. Made for each other they weren't, but they could share bittersweet smiles and know without speaking that they were in the dwindling dusk of their time together.

Sam meandered down the sidewalk, Cal at his side, as the streetlights winked on overhead in the gradually darkening sky. "So," Sam said, glancing over at Cal, "did you like Mikaela?"

"You love her?" Cal asked, in his hoarse voice. Sam sighed, and when he looked over again to find Cal watching him, his heart fluttered a little. It was the way Cal was looking at him, like in this moment, Sam was the center of the universe.

"She's a great person," Sam said, "she really is. And we really do connect, you know? We get each other." Cal gave him an inquisitive look and a questioning little sound, just like the 'what?" sound Sam was so used to hearing from Bee. "We've been dating since I was eighteen, and when I went to school, it was even long distance, and I just, I know her really well now. And I _like_ her, I know her completely and she's so _good._ But-" Sam was almost afraid to go on. It felt final, in the gathering dusk, the stars coming out overhead and Cal's eyes on him unfalteringly. "I think the person you're supposed to be with… they should feel like home."

Cal nodded slowly, saying nothing. Sam couldn't quite figure out what it meant. It was like Cal's silence was saying something to him, like it was a language all his own, and Sam was only just learning how to speak it, its words still just a poetic mystery to his ears.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam finally began packing. His mother had rolled her eyes at how he started just a week before moving to the city, but doing it any sooner had felt too premature. Sam was still here; he hadn't wanted his surroundings to begin disappearing, not yet.

On his second day of packing, Cal was sitting on the bed, watching Sam pack and listening to Sam's chattering. Sam had no idea how much Cal was really understanding, but Cal's eyes were bright with amusement, so he figured it was probably a decent amount.

"-and my mom must think I've got like, a dragon's hoard in here because she got enough boxes to pack an army in." He reached a hand into the back of his desk drawer to finish clearing it out, and his fingers brushed against something. "And of course, my dad's already got buckets of paint so he can convert this into his combination gym/home-theatre, because he thinks that'll help motivate him to exercise more." He curled his fingers around the item and brought it out; it was the communicator he'd been given, which made him pause.

He hadn't called in three weeks; partly because he'd been busy spending time with Mikaela and Cal, trying not to think about leaving home for somewhere so different this time, a city that felt more foreign than anywhere he'd ever been, a shift that felt permanent. But mostly – mostly it was because every time he thought about Bee, his heart twisted itself into knots. Bee, who suddenly felt a little like a stranger.

Sam stared down at the cell-phone-like device in his hands. "Just a sec, I have to call someone." Cal nodded, and then, tilting his head, pointed to the door with a questioning look. "No, you can stay, it's cool. Thanks." Cal gave a small smile; warmth pooled in his eyes, and Sam had a hard time looking away. He finally turned back to the phone, pressed the buttons until he'd connected to the only Autobot that seemed to care about having the call receptors turned on. With the other Autobots, it was like how some people – Sam's dad in particular – just seemed incapable of hearing their phone, no matter how loud the ringtone was. The phone rang once, and even then, it was barely an entire ring.

"Sam? Is something wrong?" Ratchet's panicked voice came through immediately. As far as phone availability went, Ratchet was the only reliable one in the bunch. Ironic, for beings who could literally answer the phone in their own brains.

"No, no, nothing. I just… I wanted to ask, y'know, how's Bee?" He chanced a glance over at Cal, hoping he sounded nonchalant enough that Cal wouldn't be intrigued enough to ask questions.

"Just fine," Ratchet said. "I'd let you talk to him, but he's off with Ironhide right now, working."

"Oh, okay." Sam's shoulders slumped. "It wasn't really important, anyways."

"I'd be more than happy to pass on a message, Sam."

"Just… tell him hi. And I miss him. That's all." Sam felt his face redden a little at the admission. But – he did. Bee was his best friend, and whenever anything happened, Sam found himself immediately looking to Bee for his reaction.

"Of course, Sam."

After he'd hung up, Sam slipped the device into his pocket, looked over at Cal. "Anyways…" There was no use pretending Cal hadn't heard the conversation, after all. And Sam felt Bee's absence like a missing limb, which may have been magnifying his feelings towards Cal, but – still. Cal was sweet and calming and Sam was going to miss him, too. "Speaking of missing. You're going back home soon, huh?" Cal nodded solemnly, eyes on Sam as he scooted forward to sit on the edge of the bed. "I… I'm really gonna miss you. This has been a lot of fun, hanging out and all."

The sweet smile he got was his favourite, but it did make the words harder to get out. Maybe he was in the midst of a rebound for a loss that hadn't even happened yet, but Sam kept finding himself looking at Cal for too long.

"I kinda… there's something I really want to know… but, wait, are you getting all of this? Because I can talk slower or if I'm using words you don't… well, I mean, I don't use long words all the time, I'm not a walking dictionary…" he was babbling, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. Cal was looking right at him, like he could see everything Sam was trying to say, and maybe like he already knew. That made it easier, somehow. "So are you getting this?" Sam asked weakly. Cal reached up to set a finger on Sam's lips, and Sam felt a shiver go down his back. "So you understand."

"Everything," Cal murmured.

"Okay. Okay. Definitely good. Not like I doubted or anything, I just wanted to make sure you understand. I just, since you don't know enough to talk like, at all, I wanted to make sure I wasn't confusing you. But you're great company anyways, seriously, I know we don't talk but I know you listen and I hardly know anything about you but… I'm really going to miss you."

Cal understood. Cal understood what Sam wasn't saying, because he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam's.

They only had one more week left; it would still be filled with silence from Cal, but if they had this, Sam thought, leaning in to kiss Cal again, again – if they had this, Sam thought he could say everything he needed to. Cal knew he was leaving. He probably even knew he was standing in for someone who Sam missed terribly.

Still, Cal brought his hand to Sam's cheek and kissed him again.

xxx

Sam spotted a stack of books under his desk, reached to pull them towards him. As much as he'd wanted to spend the afternoon of his third-to-last day kissing Cal, his mother's shout from downstairs had reminded him he'd finished only a handful of boxes out of who knew how many. Cal was still sprawled across the bed, one hand dangling off the edge so his fingertips could trail up and down Sam's arm. The touch was doing nothing to keep Sam on task but Sam wasn't about to complain. It was sweet, how extremely relaxed Cal had become in the past few days, basking in Sam's attention.

"Textbooks," Sam grumbled as he examined the stack, which was definitely going in the 'to leave' pile. "I hate how these pile up. These are just for electives! Astrology – way harder than you'd think – and linguistics – the teacher kept complaining about teaching babies sign language for some reason? And French-"

Sam paused, unsure why the book was calling out to him. "French," he mumbled, distracted as he stared at it for some kind of clue. He flicked through the pages until they all flopped towards the front, leaving him looking at the dictionary of words in the back.

cajoler [v.] – to coax

calamité [n.f.] – misfortune

calandre [n.f.]- radiator grill

calculer [v.]- to compute

calendrier [n.m.]- calendar

There was something tugging at his mind. The words themselves meant nothing to him, but they were trying to tell him something. Not the words. Just – the list. The list of them.

"Italian!" Sam blurted, jumping to his feet. He shoved the books aside jolting Cal's hand away from him in his haste. "Be right back!" He raced stumblingly out of the room, nearly smacking his shoulder on the doorframe. A whimpering noise was the only response he got from Cal, but he ignored that and sprinted down the stairs. Hopefully, his mother wouldn't be in her crying mood, and would be able to help. "Mom? Mom?" She was only a little weepy, standing in the kitchen and staring at a pot.

"When you were a baby, you liked to play with the pots and pans," she told him mournfully.

"That's great mom, that's really great, but listen, where's that Italian textbook you tried to teach me Italian with?"

"Tried?" She planted her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. "Samuel James Witwicky, I would have taught you to be fluent in Italian if you hadn't been so uninterested! I-"

"Yes, Mom, yes, you're right, you were a great teacher and I should have paid attention- where is it?"

"The book?" She sniffled and looked down at the saucepan. "You were just so darn cute... you'd sit on the floor for hours and hit the pots with a spoon-"

"Yes, Mom, the book! Where is it?"

"Living room bookshelves, probably..." she sniffled again. "God, the racket you made. But it was just so darn cute..."

"Great. Thank you!" He bolted out of the kitchen before she could start crying again. Sam started tearing through the bookcase, trying to be methodical, going through the shelves as fast as he could. The textbook was on the third to last shelf, gathering dust. He pulled it from its slot and flipped through it rapidly. The glossary was on the last few pages, and told him just what he'd thought it might.

It might mean nothing, he thought, staring down at the page. It didn't prove anything.

Sam dashed back upstairs, book in hand, slamming back into his room. Cal jerked in surprise, tumbling from the bed.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" Sam crawled awkwardly across the bed, book still in hand. Cal sat up, resting his chin on the bedspread, gaze on the book. "Yeah, the book! This is gonna sound crazy, I'm probably wrong, but, look!" He flipped the pages to the 'C' section, jabbed his finger down at a word. "Your name suddenly sounded familiar to me, and I was right! It means-" The rest of his theory caught up with him, just as he saw Cal's eyes widen. "It means –" Sam stammered.

calabrone [n.m.]: bumblebee.

"You… it…. It means Bumblebee."

It couldn't be a coincidence. It was deliberate, it had to be, and to be deliberate, it had to be deception. Lies, from the amber-eyed boy in his room. Sam raised his gaze to find him; Cal had scooted back against one of the boxes, eyes big, looking for all the world like he was about to be under gunpowder. Was he trying to find out about the Autobots? Why bother with the games? It didn't add up. Sam tried to puzzle it out, but kept hitting dead ends, all while staring at Cal. A guy who found out about the Autobots and… what, tried to get information out of Sam by being his friend? And for what, to give it to who, the Decepticons? Why be so obvious, then? Why call himself Bee's name if Sam wasn't supposed to ever find out? Why would he want Sam to realize something was going on?

Sam was wrong. An entirely new storm of lies was growing on the horizon behind him, he hadn't seen it coming and was suddenly roaring towards him. He wasn't finding out that his companion was some kind of spy. That would have been bad, would have hurt, would have made Sam feel used and pathetic, but he could have dealt with that. That would have been so much easier.

"You're –" Sam whispered. He could still feel those hands on him, those lips, the sweetest touch he'd ever felt, but this… this made it hurt, this made everything taste bitter. This undid it all, everything falling away around them, lies dissolving into the silence. The tortured look on the sweetest face Sam had ever seen sealed it, the tear-filled amber eyes made it a bond they couldn't break if they tried, but it couldn't be, because Sam didn't want to be united in knowing the truth, because Sam didn't want to know at all, because he was just so real.

"Bee?"


	4. Chapter 4

The breakup felt like the end of an era. It was the changing of the guard in slow motion, resigning from being each other's most important person, handing the duty over to someone yet unnamed and unfound. _Take care of her,_ Sam wanted to ask of her future partner, the man who wasn't him.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly. Part of him wished he hadn't done this here, in the garage where she was so quintessentially herself. This was his Mikaela: her long hair pinned in a bun, her hands flecked with grease, a wrench in her back pocket, and he was leaving her. Sam had wished so many times to feel at home with her, gazed over at her and could only think _why couldn't it be her?_ "You're amazing," he said, wished he had the words to explain to her how deeply he loved her despite leaving. "You're such an amazing person, Mikaela, and I, I just feel lucky that I even got to be with you and get to know you. I really…" The words were stuck back in his memory of saying them for the first time, of looking over at her under the stars and whispering them. "I really did love you."

"I know, Sam." Mikaela smiled, and her eyes were like sparkling water; Sam would always remember them clearly, he knew it, before and after they looked at him with sadness. "I loved you too. I just don't think we're meant for each other." She blew out a slow breath, faraway look in her eyes as she gazed down into the open hood of the car she leaned against, like maybe she was thinking about how things fit together, how they made incredible things happen by being together in the exact right way. "I know we were important to each other, and breaking up won't change who you were at that time in my life." She smiled a little, a lightness slowly returning to them. "That's also a fancy way of saying we should stay friends."

Sam had never had a breakup like this, where he left feeling free in this way – not of her, but of the misalignment, of now being in his proper place in her life. And if it wasn't her, if she wasn't the person waiting for him at the end of his long journey to find them, if someone as richly compelling and loving as Mikaela couldn't be the one waiting for Sam, Sam couldn't wait to see what _his_ person was like.

Sam walked home slowly, kicking aimlessly at fallen leaves, hands in his jacket pockets. He wondered how long it would take, before he felt like she was missing whenever he looked over and didn't see her there. When he did look towards the street at the sound of tires, though, he did see someone who had been missing. The yellow Camaro sat in the street, one door open in invitation, as if Bee really had been gone for a month and not actually right beside Sam all along. Sam's lightened mood plummeted.

"I don't think so." He picked up his pace, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "I'm not talking to you."

An engine rev, almost like a whimper.

"I can't believe I didn't see right through it," Sam grumbled. He was talking to himself; maybe people would assume he had Bluetooth earphones in. "Random boy shows up, says he's Italian but never speaks a word of Italian, no accent, never even talks to me, can drive a car even though he's from a city with no cars, and you seriously couldn't come up with a better name? How about _any_ name, at all?!"

The shouting earned him a confused look from a woman working in her garden, and she hid behind the picket fence as he walked by, ineffectually. Sam hurried past her, unable to think of any explanation to ease her fears. Maybe she'd think he was just a roving lunatic and didn't live around here.

"I can't believe you even got Ratchet in on it. That's who Randall was, wasn't it? You guys can all do it, the, the hologram thing? Or whatever that human form was? No one ever mentioned it to _me,_ after all. You guys don't tell me anything. And seriously, Randall? That sounds the _same_ as Ratchet! You guys are terrible with sneaky names! And it was you the whole time! You came with me when I went out with Mikaela, even!"

He was about to say it: _you could have hurt her again, I shouldn't have let you close to her._ But it stopped him, the nagging thought that he didn't understand everything yet, that maybe he just – wasn't ready to. He was just so _angry,_ hated how Bee had forced the emotion onto him by his increasingly infuriating actions, how things just kept getting worse. Sam had wanted to talk to someone about it, had even planned to talk to Mikaela, but had been unable to heap more emotions on her than he already had.

"And you _lied_ to me!" Sam's voice broke on the word. It was the worst part, the _lies,_ and he hated remembering any of it, seeing himself as so thoroughly fooled. "Why'd you do it? Did you not – what, trust me? Wanted to spy on me?"

A loud rev from Bumblebee, probably in protest.

"Yeah, well, now I don't trust you either."

Sam stalked along in silence until he reached his house. Ratchet, car-form, was sitting in his driveway, engine humming quietly. The boxes with Sam's belongings were already packed into the ambulance that was Ratchet, and he was just waiting for Sam to finish up his goodbyes. He'd already said goodbye to his parents, and Mikaela was at the end of his goodbyes list. Sam hadn't wanted to face his parents after that, and the decision of whether or not to tell them about the breakup.

"You," Sam huffed, storming up to the ambulance. "Have so much explaining to do." It had been hard to reign in his fury in front of his parents and now that they were without an audience, he was ready to stop trying.

"Sam, we really must leave," Ratchet said, placating and factual, "the others are expecting us to be en route already. It is a long drive."

"It can wait two seconds."

Bumblebee stayed in the street, darting forward and then backwards, the auto equivalent of pacing. The engine revs were short, quick bursts, like the very sound of anxiety.

"What were you guys thinking, sending Bee's hologram or whatever to follow me around? Seriously? You could have at least told me it was him! Or that you guys could even _do_ that."

"No, Sam," Ratchet's voice was soothing, albeit ineffectually. "It was not security. You'll have to talk to Bumblebee about the reason."

"Yeah. Conveniently, he can't talk."

"I set him up with temporary cables this morning. He can get a couple days out of them. Now, may we leave?"

"Fine." Sam took one step towards the Camaro, and the door was flung open, desperately inviting. Sam sighed, climbed in.

It felt different than when he'd left for college, watching the house disappear from the rearview mirror. Sam watched his familiar street leave them, then his neighborhood, all in silence. He couldn't help but wonder where he would be going now if he hadn't ever met the Autobots, if his life had proceeded normally, if he was a recent college graduate who hadn't become entrenched in an alien war, if the threats to his safety weren't so significant and his involvement so pivotal that he didn't have to move to an Earthbound alien city.

He tried, in vain, to imagine never having met Bumblebee.

xxx

The first day of driving had passed in complete silence. Sam had tried a few times to ask Bee why he'd decided to play holo-exchange-student, not even touching upon the whole kissing thing – Sam definitely wasn't ready to hear about that – and all he'd gotten was a brief explanation of "security," even though Ratchet had sworn up and down that it was entirely Bee's doing and had zero relation to security.

The second day, though, during a stop at a deserted gas station, Sam had gotten out of the car to walk around, and had been surprised to see Bee's human hologram hesitantly following him up onto the porch of the shop. The Camaro stayed in place in the parking lot, no actual need for fuel. Sam frowned, giving Bee a quick glance. There was a brief wave of familiarity, a flash of feeling less alone in the wake of betrayal, until his mind caught up and reminded him that this was the person who had done it to him.

"Okay. You want to talk?" Sam asked. Bee nodded, leaning against the porch railing, still several paces away from Sam like he was afraid to get too close. The look of fear on his face made Sam's heart twist and pitch. "Don't look like that. I just want to know why."

Before Bee could answer, Sam's cell phone rang.

"Better get that," Bee offered weakly.

"Wasn't planning on it." Sam glowered. The fact that Bee looked even more picture-perfect than before wasn't helping Sam any. He had such a sweet face; Sam wondered briefly how the hologram image was even chosen.

"It's Mikaela." Bee recognized the ringtone, of course. Sam sighed and picked it up.

"Just checking in," Mikaela said when he answered, "you are, after all, my favorite ex-boyfriend."

"God, that's weird to hear. Not the favorite part, of course I'm your favorite, the other part."

"Yeah," Mikaela exhaled the word. "I miss you. Are you okay out there? You seemed kind of, y'know, upset after your friend left, and having to move away right after…"

"He… it's a long story. He didn't exactly leave on great terms."

"Oh, Sam." He knew the look that would be on her face; pitying, heart hurting for him.

"It's fine. It's not like I'll see him again, right?" he was maybe being a little too mean to Bee, he knew it, he just felt like his hurt had so much momentum it was hard to stop. "Anyways… we have to get driving again, but I'll tell you when we're there?"

"I'd love to see pictures of how the city turned out," she said. It had been a giant undertaking, starting years ago; it was weird, to think of a project started during their relationship and finishing after it, as well as all the unseen conclusions in her life. They'd stay in touch, but would he know the little things? How her pet frog would take to the companion she hadn't gotten him yet, whether she eventually lifted her ban on white leather seats in cars, if she'd ever stop nearly burning the handles of wooden spoons by leaving them in pots on the stove.

When Sam hung up, he turned to Bee; the look on Bee's face was so – so expressive, it made Sam wonder what he'd been missing all this time, when Bee stayed in car form because he had to, not even in Bot form. "Look, Bee, about Mikaela –"

"No!" Bee's sudden lash of anger made Sam fall speechless. "I'm sorry I hurt her, Sam, I really am – and I'm so, so sorry I hurt you by hurting her, and you're right, I was out of line, I know that, but you should have seen what it was doing to you!"

"What it was doing?"

"You were so _sad,_ Sam! Like, like you were settling and you _knew_ it. And you would never talk about it! Why wouldn't you just leave each other? Why keep making yourself feel like it was your fault for not being good together? You always _blamed_ yourself!" His raised voice was clearly wearing on the temporary cables – or whatever the equivalent was, in his current form – as his voice went from grating to hoarse, so broken up that Sam was sure it was painful for Bee. Were there really that many times, for Bee to be so upset by this?

There were, though. Sam's relationship as viewed by a third party – had it hurt, to watch? Sam had certainly spent the beginning trying to form himself into someone who wouldn't fail out of the relationship, spent the middle beating himself up over his inability to do so. It was only now, at the sunset of their relationship, that Sam had accepted it: nothing he did would make things work.

"You can't think you deserve that, Sam! You can't stay with her, look what it's been doing to you! And you never understood what it did to _me!"_ At his last words, his voice cracked in a sob, and he brought a hand to his throat. His eyes were sad and reluctant, and the sight of his pure misery tore Sam apart. Sam knew he had to find a reply, so he grabbed at the most prominent and hoped he wouldn't regret it.

"It didn't have anything to do with you," he said. Bee lifted his head to look at Sam, eyes welled with tears, and so _betrayed –_ like Sam hadn't understood him at all, and it hurt Bee so deeply to realize that. Before Sam could say anything, Bee vanished. Sam blinked in the aftermath; he'd never seen Bee just disappear before.

The scream of tires against pavement came from the parking lot, and the Camaro roared off down the road, spinning up dust. Sam rubbed his hands over his face, swearing under his breath.

"I assume you need a ride?" Ratchet drove up in front of the shop and a door popped open. "I'm afraid the boxes take up the room in back, so you won't be able to pretend to be a patient."

"Very funny." Sam climbed in, the door closing behind him. With it shut, he couldn't even hear the distant howl of the Camaro engine. Ratchet let him sit in silence for a mile, as Sam watched the yellow car far ahead of them.

"May I ask what happened?" Ratchet asked, voice placid.

"Well…" Sam shifted, leaning against the stack of boxes between the driver's and passenger seat. "I'm not super sure, I guess. I… well, I definitely said something I shouldn't have."

"Very descriptive." Sam wasn't sure whether the Autobots had always used sarcasm, or if it was one of those things they'd just learned from the humans. At the very least, Ratchet's fondness for it had been on an incline since showing up on the planet.

"I mean… come on, in my defense, it was insane to find out that the guy I'd been hanging out with every day for a month was someone I already knew in disguise! I felt lied to – I _was_ lied to! I suddenly find out I've been making out with my _car_ and I'm supposed to – woah!" Ratchet had braked suddenly, and Sam flew forward before being all-but guillotined by his seatbelt. "Some warning would be nice!"

"I'm sorry, Sam." Ratchet picked up speed again, and Sam hoped the driving would stay smooth. Sam nudged aside boxes so he could see out the windshield better; the visibility would have been pretty unsafe if he'd been piloting the car himself, and he wondered how he would explain it if they were pulled over. Sorry, officer, I didn't think I needed to see out of the other half of the windshield. Sam looked ahead, and was just able to catch sight of sunlight glinting off the yellow car, far ahead. In the dead silence, he could just barely hear the screaming engine. "Okay, he's pissed."

"I would suggest," Ratchet finally offered, "That you talk to Bumblebee about his intentions some more. I think I misunderstood."

"You misunderstood him? What's not to understand?"

"That's a question for him, not me."

"Are you sure? He wouldn't tell me. I mean, maybe he was going to, but then Mikaela called, and then he flew off the handle."

"She called you? And what happened after that?"

"Bee started yelling at me about how my relationship had been bad for me all along." Sam could still see the hurt look, hear the pained voice. "He said it was hard for him, too." The image of Bee in tears refused to leave him. He hadn't known the Autobots could cry, but then again, Bee had been in human form. Maybe that had something to do with it. "And I said it had nothing to do with him. Which was probably not the best thing I could have said."

"You regret it?"

"Yeah. I mean… what if he really was just looking out for me?" Part of Sam was angry because _he_ was the one who had rights to be upset. He'd been lied to and deceived, Bee had hurt his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. _Sam_ was the one who had been wronged. But Bee – he looked so heartbroken. Like he was at the end of his rope, like there was a lot Sam had been missing.

"Sam," Ratchet interrupted softly. "Let me assure you, it was not a lack of trust that drove Bumblebee to come to you the way he did. Whatever it was, it was not mistrust. I can promise you that."

Sam drew in a breath, closing his eyes briefly. "Okay, well. I guess that makes everything else make sense too. Maybe he was trying to make her leave me, with all that stuff he did before? But when she didn't, he showed up as a guy to get me away from her? Do you think he could do that hormone reading thing that you guys can do?"

"Doubtlessly."

"Well maybe he could tell that if he showed up as a guy, I'd be, y'know. Susceptible." Sam had never told Bee, after all. Or much of anyone. It was a combination of taking the path of least resistance, and never seeking out a reason to do otherwise. He liked girls and he liked guys, and then Mikaela showed up, and Sam loved her. He'd never seen a reason to go around advertising that if someone like Cal had appeared first, things could have gone that way instead.

"Makes sense," Sam said, mostly to himself. "Doesn't really make it okay, but at least it makes sense. Y'know… mostly."

It didn't answer for the look on Bee's face. It didn't tell Sam why Bee was so hurt, watching his failing relationship from the outside. It didn't give Sam the Rosetta stone to Bee's hurt feelings. Maybe that meant it wasn't the answer at all.

The Camaro sped ahead of them until it was entirely out of sight, vanishing into the setting sun.


End file.
